Fifteen

The portcullis rattled and squeaked as the heavy iron grill opened in front of Laird Fraser. Ten armed and angry MacKenzies guarded him. In the distance, across the clearing, Fraser’s men gathered on their horses in a small group.

Darach stood three paces to the laird’s right, fists clenched and jaw tight, with Anderson and Oslow behind him. Hati and Skoll growled softly nearby, ready to rip apart their master’s enemy.

Darach’s control was slipping the longer Fraser was in his home, and he’d had to stop himself several times from pulling his sword and gutting the degenerate bastard.

“You look ready to kill me, MacKenzie,” Fraser said, eyes gleaming. “Will you forego your honor and put an arrow in my back as I walk away? Or slay me where I stand, unarmed and defenseless?”

Darach took a moment to unclench his fists. “Nay. I promise free passage through MacKenzie territory for you and your men. You have my word.”

Fraser nodded, then stepped closer. Darach’s men also stepped closer.

“Then now’s a good time to say this: I plan to kill you, MacKenzie. And the woman will watch. Then I’ll take her to wife and spread those thighs. Before the year is out, she’ll have borne me a son and all who bear your name will be dead. You have my word.”

The MacKenzies around him growled in outrage, the ringing of their drawn swords filling the air. Darach wanted to growl too, wanted to snarl like his hounds and use his bare hands to pummel Fraser into the ground. Instead, he inhaled deeply and held up his hand to calm his men.

“And I say this, Fraser. You leave my land living for the last time. When next we meet, I will cleave your body in two and feed your guts to the pigs. Your clan will be cleansed of filth and depravity and left to honest men and women. You will ne’er threaten me and mine again. With the King’s man as witness, our truce is broken. Leave while you still can.” He drew his sword and pointed it at Fraser’s throat. “Or I’ll take your head, honor be damned.”

Fraser’s lips drew back in what might be called a smile—one as bestial as Hati’s and Skoll’s—then he slunk under the portcullis like a rabid dog.

Darach signaled a number of his warriors. “Follow them to the border.”

He stood watching, sword out, until every last Fraser disappeared into the forest; then he turned to Anderson. “You may inform the King that the MacKenzies and the Frasers are at war.”

* * *

Caitlin sucked in a breath and stood up from the steps leading to the keep as the group of warriors in the distance split apart and Darach appeared, marching toward her, Oslow and Anderson on his heels, the dogs racing ahead of him. She couldn’t make out his features, but she’d recognize that stride, the way he held himself, anywhere.

“Lachlan!” she called out.

After a moment, Lachlan appeared at the open door to the keep and looked across the bailey toward Darach. “It is done,” he said.

“What’s done? What do you mean?” But he’d already turned away and reentered the keep.

She hovered on the bottom step, frightened and unsure. When the dogs reached her, she wrapped her arms around them.

If Darach or the clan should come to harm because of her, she would never forgive herself. And why hadn’t her uncle left with Fraser? Why was he still here?

Darach was close enough for her to see him clearly now, and she swallowed nervously at his stony expression. What had he done? Killed Fraser? Declared war? Agreed to send her back?

When he held out his hand to her, she sobbed and ran to his side. He pulled her tight under his arm and kept walking. “You’ve told me everything, aye? You’ve left naught out?” he asked.

“You know everything. Maybe even more than I do.”

He nodded and pressed a kiss to her temple. “I’m sorry they put you through that, sweetling. You will ne’er be hurt or abused in such a way again.”

They reached the steps and the dogs bounded up ahead of them. Caitlin lifted her skirts and ran to keep up as Darach took the stairs two at a time. At the top, he stopped abruptly and turned to her. He looked so serious that her heart stuttered. Then he stroked a hand down her cheek, and she melted.

“Caitlin—”

Lachlan stepped out of the doorway and frowned at them. “’Tis only half-done. For heaven’s sake, you can ask her later. And doona let her uncle know your intentions right away, although ’tis not hard to guess with that look on your face.”

Darach grunted and released her, then followed Lachlan into the darkened keep.

“Ask me what?” Caitlin asked as she trailed after them. “And what’s half-done? What are you talking about?”

But neither man responded.

When her eyes adjusted to the dim light after the brightness outside, she saw the dais had been removed and a large table with a bench on each side had been laid with food and drink. Her uncle sat facing her, at the edge on one side, eating and drinking like a starving hog. Father Lundie sat beside him with an empty plate, sipping slowly from his cup, looking like he was trying not to breathe through his nose.

The door banged shut, and she turned to see that Oslow and Anderson had followed them in. Other than Gare and Brodie standing guard at the door, everyone else had left the great hall.

“Master Anderson, will you sup with us?” Darach asked. He indicated the seat beside Father Lundie.

Caitlin slowed. She did not want to eat with her uncle, but then Darach called her name too. “Caitlin, sit next to me, please.”

He stood beside the bench waiting for her. She dragged her feet to the table after she caught his pointed stare and sat down opposite Anderson. Darach sat beside her, between her and Lachlan, with Lachlan opposite her uncle.

Oslow took up position behind Darach while Edina served the meal, then bustled back to the great hearth, where warming dishes were laid out.

When her uncle spat the bones from the partridge onto the rushes that covered the floor, Caitlin pushed her trencher of greens and fowl away. Her stomach would only revolt at the food.

“You have much to thank me for, Niece,” MacInnes said after he finished his ale in great gulps, the drink spilling over the sides of his cup into his beard.

Darach’s hand squeezed her leg gently under the table, but she found it hard to hold her tongue, as he so obviously wanted her to do.

“Is that so?” she said.

“Aye. You were naught more than a farm girl when I found you. Now you will be lady of a great castle.”

She looked from her uncle to Darach, searching his eyes, then back to her uncle. “I was far more than just a farm girl, Uncle. I was happy and well loved. I would rather have people who love me in my life and live on a farm, than be unhappy and unloved living in a great castle. And I think you are mistaken about Laird MacKenzie’s intentions toward me.”

Her uncle made a loud, dismissive sound, making Caitlin’s pulse pound with anger.

“He wouldnae go to such lengths to separate you from Laird Fraser unless he wanted to keep you for himself, and I doona intend to let him keep you for free.”

Fury burned within her, and she opened her mouth to say that Darach would do for any lass what he’d done for her—and that she was not a cow to be bartered—but Darach again squeezed her leg. She turned to him, waiting for him to cut down her uncle for suggesting such a thing.

Instead, he took a sip of the whisky from the bejeweled, golden goblet, swirled the liquor, then took another sip before placing it down. MacInnes watched, his eyes shining with greed.

“You already have the gold from Fraser,” Darach said. “I will kill him before the year is out and you willna have to return the payment.”

“You will do so anyway. And I wouldnae count so easily on killing him.” MacInnes steepled his hands in front of his chin like he was thinking. “Maybe I should bring my niece home with me. ’Tis not safe for her here if you are at war.”

Darach stabbed his knife into a juicy piece of meat on his trencher and handed it to Caitlin. She took it with her fingers and put it in her mouth because to do otherwise would be rude, but she could barely swallow it.

“She is in my castle, MacInnes, surrounded by my men. None can get to her here…or get her out,” he said.

“Aye, but as her only living relative, it is my duty to see to her safety. As I see fit. Isn’t that right, Master Anderson?”

The King’s man looked down at his plate, obviously weighing his words. “I think you both would do well to strike a deal that is mutually beneficial rather than involving the King in this dispute. You may not like the outcome.”

“I agree,” her uncle said, looking back to Darach, who nodded and also said, “Aye.”

Caitlin gasped, feeling like she’d been struck. They were going to deal for her? As she just sat there watching, saying nothing? Her outrage turned to panic, a trapped feeling overwhelming her. “Wait!” she cried out.

The breath rushed in and out of her lungs as she met their stares. Her uncle did not deserve to prosper for his ill treatment of her, and Darach would be forced into a marriage he didn’t want, honor bound to take her to wife. He’d hate her for it.

“I do not merit this transaction. Truly, I’m a worthless woman. I am disobedient and careless. I have no skills, no attractive qualities. I would make a terrible wife.”

MacInnes frowned at her. “It takes no skill to bed your husband, to have his bairns. Your maiden blood is all that’s required.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Well then…I am not a maid!”

MacInnes’s face turned a deep reddish purple before he yelled, “You lie!”

“Nay. I swear. I’m a harlot of the worst kind. I’m not good enough to be anyone’s wife. Ride away and count yourself fortunate to be rid of me, Uncle.”

All eyes had turned to her—Lachlan, Darach, and Oslow all looking exasperated; Father Lundie looking concerned; Anderson looking confused. She didn’t spin around to see what Brodie and Gare looked like, but she’d surely heard Brodie snort.

Her uncle’s jowls quivered with outrage. “She was a maid when she left my keep, I made sure of it. ’Tis someone here who’s ruined her. I had other men lined up if Fraser fell through. Now who will want her?”

“MacInnes,” Darach said, “I’m sure Caitlin isna a—”

“I am,” she said, cutting him off in her haste. If she had no value to her uncle, maybe he would leave too. “None will want me now. My bastard children will roam the halls wherever I live. They’ll overrun your keep, Uncle. More mouths to feed and bodies to clothe. You best leave me to my sinful ways.”

“You besom,” he said. “I had plans for you.”

Caitlin winced. It was one thing to name herself promiscuous, another to hear it from someone else. But if her uncle washed his hands of her, it was worth soiling her reputation.

By the scowl on his face, Darach didn’t agree. “You willna insult your niece in my presence, MacInnes. Caitlin is obviously—”

“A besom,” she interjected. “Oh, aye, I’m a horrible, degenerate woman. I canna help myself.” She warmed to her story and let her imagination run wild. “I’m a present-day Jezebel who will lead your clan to debauchery and shame, Uncle. ’Twill cost you much gold.”

Her uncle blanched and looked accusingly at Darach. “Who is responsible for this? What man has dared sully my niece?”

“Aye, Caitlin,” Darach said, turning to her. That muscle ticked in his jaw again. “Tell me, who would be so bold?”

“’Tis not important,” she said, folding her arms across her waist and trying to look unperturbed.

“I think it is. I will beat him black and blue for daring to touch a lass under my protection. Then I’ll decide whether to hang him for his impudence.”

“Nay,” she gasped, her serenity vanishing.

“Aye,” he said.

She glanced wildly around the table. Father Lundie reddened under her appraisal. She quickly averted her gaze and looked over Darach’s shoulder at Oslow. He scowled at her. Gulping, she lowered her gaze before peering around Darach at Lachlan. But Lachlan raised his brow in such a manner, she knew he would deny her.

Please, she mouthed, but he shook his head, then nodded toward Darach. She sat back slowly, biting her lip.

“Well?” Darach asked.

There was none else she could name. Once her uncle left, Darach could refute her allegation. “’Twas you,” she whispered.

“Louder, please.”

“’Twas you!”

His eyebrows rose mockingly. “If you say ’tis so, it must be true, for I know you would ne’er make up a story.”

Caitlin glanced at her uncle, hoping he would throw his hands up in disgust and leave. Instead, he smiled and licked his lips. Unease trickled up her spine.

“Since you have violated my niece in the vilest way, Laird MacKenzie, I must insist you marry her. For a price, of course. ’Tis a long journey I undertook to find my niece so dishonored.”

Darach’s eyes bore into her. “Aye. I’ll marry her.”

“Nay, you canna,” she said.

But he reached for his goblet and pushed it across the table toward her uncle, whose fingers closed around it. “We are agreed,” Darach said.

She clapped her hands to her head. “But ’tis not his fault. ’Tis my fault. Doona make him marry me. Darach was the innocent victim of my lewd advances!”

Lachlan choked, then broke into a fit of coughing. A part of her wanted to aid him, but Darach’s freedom was more important.

“He was sick. He ne’er knew what I did. ’Twas not my intent to trick him into marriage.”

“’Tis too late,” her uncle yelled, tucking the goblet into his plaid. “We have agreed.”

“But he just lay there, feeble. I am to blame!”

Darach rounded on her, nostrils flaring. “Caitlin. Stop. Talking.” He took her arm and stood, pulling her up beside him. Lachlan had placed his elbows on the table and head in his hands. His body still heaved and Caitlin would have slapped him on the back if Darach hadn’t been in her way.

“If you can contain yourself for a moment, Laird MacKay, please take Caitlin back to her room. She is to stay there for the rest of the day. None but me go in or out.”

Lachlan straightened and she saw with surprise his cheeks were wet. She thought maybe he’d been crying, but his eyes danced merrily. “Aye, Brother. I just need a moment. I feel so…feeble.”

Caitlin’s cheeks flushed. They didn’t believe her. She opened her mouth in one last attempt to explain, but Darach squashed her to his chest and drove his lips onto hers. The kiss was forceful, dominant, and it chased the thoughts from her head. Her knees buckled, but he held her up. When her arms twined around his neck, he grasped her waist and pushed her away. She blinked up at him.

“Get her out of here before she ruins everything,” he whispered to Lachlan, who’d moved beside them.

Lachlan grinned from ear to ear. “Aye. Come on, love.” Then he cupped her elbow and led her away.

* * *

With a thud, Darach lowered his prized bottle of uisge-beatha onto the round table that sat between the chairs in front of the small hearth in the great hall. He’d filled MacInnes’s cup with the golden whisky—for the fifth time—and the man slumped sideways in the chair Darach had come to think of as Caitlin’s.

It felt like a violation.

The liquor was as strong and smooth as a well-trained stallion and had caused the man’s eyes and face to shine brightly in the firelight. He slurred his words but was still coherent enough to make sense.

It was a fine line, plying MacInnes with enough liquor to loosen his tongue but not enough to make him keel over—all in the hopes of discovering some way to extricate Caitlin from his guardianship before Darach married her. It’s not that he didn’t want to wed the lass, but the idea of rewarding her uncle for his immoral behavior went against everything Darach believed.

He’d asked Father Lundie, Lachlan, and Birk Anderson to join them. They sipped their drinks carefully, understanding the need for clear heads. All had agreed earlier, when MacInnes was indisposed, that it was likely he had started the fire that had killed Caitlin’s parents in order to control his niece.

The murderer should not profit from his crime.

Gulping back a hefty slug of whisky, MacInnes slammed down his cup. The amber liquid sloshed over the rim, making Darach wince. The heathen hadn’t even tasted it.

“God’s truth, that’s the finest whisky I’ve e’er had.” MacInnes ran the words together. He wiped a dirty sleeve across his mouth and smirked at Darach. “Maybe I’ll add a few bottles to the marriage contract. What say you, MacKenzie? Is she worth it? Does the wee slut burn up the bed linen?”

The blood boiled in Darach’s veins. He clenched his jaw and tucked his hands beneath his arms to keep from squeezing the life out of the man. “She’s a lovely lass. I’m happy to take her to wife.”

“Aye, my brother was the same. It mattered not that the Frenchwoman carried another man’s brat in her belly; he had to marry her. I told him to just swive her on the side, but he was in love with the tart. ’Twas all right with me. Worked in my favor, now didn’t it?”

Darach’s breath caught in his throat. Wallace MacInnes wasn’t Caitlin’s natural father? What would that mean for guardianship, if there was no blood tie to her uncle? Was it still valid? He didn’t know the legalities, but if naught else, he could contest guardianship until he had solid proof of MacInnes’s involvement in the fire.

His eyes darted to Birk Anderson. When the man smiled and nodded, hope flared in Darach’s chest.

Still, he needed to pin MacInnes down. “Maybe Caitlin was conceived after your brother and Claire were married. The first bairn may have died.”

MacInnes took another swig. He squinted as if in thought, then shook his head. “Nay, the timing is right. Besides, he ne’er had a child with his first wife before she died, and God knows I should have fathered a few dozen bastards by now. ’Tis sad to say, but our seed is weak. Our line dies with me.” He didn’t sound sad as he held out his cup for a refill. “Means there’s none to come after me who’ll want my gold.”

Darach filled the cup halfway. He didn’t want the man passing out just when he’d become talkative. If Darach could prove MacInnes had caused the fire, it would mean more than just freedom for Caitlin; it would mean justice for Wallace and Claire. The need for it burned in his heart. Her parents had loved Caitlin dearly and turned her into a sweet, caring lass—something her uncle’s treachery had not undone.

Darach would make him pay for his misdeeds. “Did you speak to your brother after he left with Claire?”

“Nay, not for many years. We had naught to say to each other.”

“He didn’t want to know clan business? How you handled things?”

“I was laird. It had naught to do with him, no matter what some might have said.”

So there had been dissension within the clan after Wallace had left. Maybe certain people had wanted him back, and he’d become a threat to MacInnes? But why wait so many years to kill him?

Darach nodded in agreement. “’Tis necessary to rule with a strong hand. But sometimes ’tis helpful to hear what others think.”

“Bah, they were young men and old fools. I took care of them.”

“And Wallace. Did you take care of him too?”

MacInnes shrugged. “He was far away. Ne’er came back. ’Twas not necessary.”

“So why visit after all those years?”

“I’d been to a wedding nearby. ’Twas the brotherly thing to do.”

MacInnes rested his head on the heel of his hand and closed his eyes, swaying in his seat. Darach knew he was losing the blackguard and ground his teeth in frustration. A drunken confession wouldn’t be enough to convict MacInnes, but if added to the information Darach’s men were gathering, it might suffice.

Darach nudged him to wakefulness. “You said you went to a wedding and stopped in to see Wallace.”

“Aye. He lived in a cottage smaller than my hall and fed slop to pigs. Can you imagine?” He laughed and shook his head. “Claire didn’t like having me there, kept Caitlin away. But finally I saw her, and she was even more bonny than her mother. ’Twas a moment I’ll ne’er forget.”

“Why? What was so important about Caitlin, MacInnes?”

The beast smiled. “What else? To men like Fraser, she was worth her weight in gold.”

* * *

The candle sputtered on Darach’s desk. It was late. MacInnes had passed out hours ago after saying little else. They had dumped him in the barracks, then reconvened in Darach’s solar. Each man had written an account of what MacInnes had said, then Anderson had sealed the parchments with the King’s stamp. They were now safely tucked away for later.

Next, Darach had worked with Father Lundie and Anderson on the wedding contract. If the King decided MacInnes was lawfully Caitlin’s guardian despite the lack of blood between them, MacInnes would receive from Darach the equivalent of what Fraser had given him, plus the bejeweled goblet, a steady supply of whisky, and Darach’s alliance and protection. However, if it was proven MacInnes had gained guardianship of Caitlin by murdering her parents, the contract was void and MacInnes would face execution.

Either way, it bound Caitlin to Darach in marriage without him immediately having to fulfill his end of the contract to MacInnes. Now they just had to get him to sign. Darach didn’t think that would be a problem. Anderson had worded the document with great skill. It was clear and murky at the same time.

After blowing out the candle, he made his way down the corridor. Gare and another guard stood outside Caitlin’s door. When Gare saw Darach, he looked down, but not before Darach saw the indignation in his eyes.

“She’s still a maid, lad. I havnae dishonored her. She told the lie so her uncle would leave her alone. As usual, she got more than she bargained for.”

Gare sighed with relief. “Will you marry her, then?”

“Aye. Tomorrow she’ll be my virgin bride, I promise you that.”

“And I promise I’ll always protect her, Laird.”

Darach nodded and clapped his hand on Gare’s shoulder. It was good Caitlin had their loyalty.

“Has she barred the door?”

“Nay, I doona think so.”

Darach wasn’t comfortable that Caitlin slept with the door unlocked, no matter how many guards protected her. But he needed to see her, touch her. Know she was safe. He pushed open the door and caught the look of misgiving on the lad’s face. “I said virgin, Gare. I doona make promises I canna keep.”

Inside, the fire burned low, leaving just enough light for Darach to see clearly as he slid the bar into place and walked across the room. Caitlin lay under the covers, facing him. Her hair fanned across the pillow and her lips had parted. As the blood rushed to his loins and stiffened his cock, he groaned. For the first time ever, he wondered whether he’d be able to keep his word. Maybe he should leave; one more night sleeping without the lass wouldn’t kill him.

He looked to the door but couldn’t make his feet move. Stifling a curse, he leaned his sword against the wall, shed his plaid, wool socks, and shoes, and crawled into bed beside her. She curled into him without waking. He wrapped both arms around her and squeezed. The tension in his gut slowly lessened.

He closed his eyes, tried to sleep. She was so soft, so warm.

Hell, it wasn’t enough. He wanted to feel her against him skin to skin, whether it killed him or not. He pulled his arms away and tugged his lèine over his head, so he was naked. When he looked down, his breath caught in his throat. The covers were pulled back and she wore a light linen chemise with a low, round neck. The tops of her breasts were exposed. He trailed his fingers across the mounds, and she sighed in her sleep.

He found the bottom of her chemise and gripped it, tempted as he’d never been tempted before to strip her, then he let go. He was a fool. There was no way he’d be able to keep his word if she was naked too. The linen was a weak barrier, but it was better than naught. And was it not a violation to take such liberties while she slept? She wasn’t his wife yet.

With a sigh, he rolled onto his back and tucked her into the crook of his elbow. Her head rested on his chest and her arm wrapped around his waist. His arousal throbbed painfully, but at the same time, he felt the rightness of the moment, a sense of peace. She was in her proper place by his side and he would keep her there always.

Satisfaction beat like a steady drum within him. Caitlin was his, but he knew with a certainty he was also hers.

He could last the night. Dawn was only a few hours away.